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From downstairs came a huge pounding on the door. Hands and feet both, it seemed. Voices shouting too.

He lifted his lips away from the straw. Glanced into the dim stairwell.

She looked at him, frowning.

“Go see,” he said to her.

She disappeared down the stairs and a moment later returned, looking unhappy. Lon Sellitto and Jerry Banks followed. Rhyme noticed that the young detective had done another butcher job on his face with a razor. He’d really have to get that under control.

Sellitto glanced at the bottle and the bag. His eyes swayed toward Sachs but she crossed her arms and held her own, silently ordering him to leave. This was not an issue of rank, the look told the detective, and what was happening here was none of his business. Sellitto’s eyes acknowledged the message but he wasn’t about to go anywhere just yet.

“Lincoln, I need to talk to you.”

“Talk. But talk fast, Lon. We’re busy.”

The detective sat heavily in the noisy rattan chair. “An hour ago a bomb went off at the United Nations. Right next to the banquet hall. During the welcome dinner for the peace conference delegates.”

“Six dead, fifty-four hurt,” Banks added. “Twenty of them serious.”

“My God,” Sachs whispered.

“Tell him,” Sellitto muttered.

Banks continued, “For the conference, the UN hired a bunch of temps. The perp was one of them – a receptionist. A half-dozen people saw her carrying a knapsack to work and putting it in a storeroom near the banquet hall. She left just before the bang. The bomb squad estimates we’re looking at about two pounds of C4 or Semtex.”

Sellitto said, “Linc, the bomb, it was a yellow knapsack, the wits said.”

“Yellow?” Why was that familiar?

“UN human resources ID’d the receptionist as Carole Ganz.”

“The mother,” Rhyme and Sachs said simultaneously.

“Yeah. The woman you saved in the church. Only Ganz’s an alias. Her real name’s Charlotte Willoughby. She was married to a Ron Willoughby. Ring a bell?”

Rhyme said it didn’t.

“It was in the news a couple years ago. He was an Army sergeant assigned to a UN peacekeeping force in Burma.”

“Keep going,” the criminalist said.

“Willoughby didn’t want to go – thought an American soldier shouldn’t be wearing a UN uniform and taking orders from anybody except the U.S. Army. It’s a big right-wing issue nowadays. But he went anyway. Wasn’t there a week before he’s blown away by some little punk in Rangoon. Got shot in the back. Became a conservative martyr. Anti-Terror says his widow got recruited by an extremist group out in the Chicago burbs. Some U of C grads gone underground. Edward and Katherine Stone.”

Banks took over the narrative. “The explosive was in a package of kid’s modeling clay, along with some other toys. We think she was going to take the little girl with her so security at the banquet-hall entrance wouldn’t think anything of the clay. But with Pammy in the hospital she didn’t have her cover story so she gave up on the hall and just planted it in the storeroom. Did enough damage as it was.”

“Rabitted?”

“Yep. Not a trace.”

“What about the little girl,” Sachs asked, “Pammy?”

“Gone. The woman checked her out of the hospital around the time of the bang. No sign of either of them.”

Rhyme asked, “The cell?”

“The group in Chicago? They’re gone too. Had a safe house in Wisconsin but it’s been hosed. We don’t know where they are.”

“So that was the rumor Dellray’s snitch heard.” Rhyme laughed. “Carole was the one coming into the airport. Had nothing to do with Unsub 823.”

He found Banks and Sellitto staring at him.

Oh, the old silent trick again.

“Forget it, Lon.” Rhyme said, all too aware of the glass sitting inches from him, radiating a welcoming heat. “Impossible.”

The older detective plucked his sweaty shirt away from his body, cringing. “God damn cold in here, Lincoln. Jesus. Look, just think about it. What’sa harm?”

“I can’t help you.”

Sellitto said, “There was a note. Carole wrote it and sent it to the secretary-general by interoffice envelope. Harping on world government, taking away American liberties. Some shit like that. Claimed credit for the UNESCO bombing in London too and said there’d be more. We’ve gotta get ’em, Linc.”

Feeling his oats, scarface Banks said, “The secretary-general and the mayor both’ve asked for you. SAC Perkins too. And there’ll be a call from the White House, you need any more persuading. We sure hope you don’t, detective.”

Rhyme didn’t comment on the error regarding his rank.

“They’ve got the Bureau’s PERT team ready to go. Fred Dellray’s running the case and he asked – respectfully, yeah, he used that very word – he asked respectfully if you’d do the forensic work. And it’s a virgin scene, except for getting the bodies and the wounded out.”

“Then it’s not virgin,” Rhyme snapped. “It’s extremely contaminated.”

“All the more reason we need you,” Banks ventured, adding “sir” to defuse Rhyme’s glare.

Rhyme sighed, looked at the glass and the straw. Peace was so close to him just now. And pain too. Infinite sums of both.

He closed his eyes. Not a sound in the room.

Sellitto added, “It was just the woman herself, hey, wouldn’t be that big a deal. But she’s got her daughter with her, Lincoln. Underground, with a little girl? You know what that kid’s life’s going to be like?”

I’ll get you for that too, Lon.

Rhyme nestled his head into the opulent pillow. Finally his eyes sprang open. He said, “There’d be some conditions.”

“Name it, Linc.”

“First of all,” he said. “I don’t work alone.”

Rhyme looked toward Amelia Sachs.

She hesitated for a moment then smiled and stood, lifted the glass of tainted brandy out from under the straw. She opened the window wide and flung the tawny liquid into the ripe, hot air above the alley next to the townhouse, while, just feet away, the falcon looked up, glaring angrily at the motion of her arm, cocked his gray head, then turned back to feed his hungry youngster.

Appendix

Excerpts from: Glossary of Terms, Lincoln Rhyme, Physical Evidence, 4th ed. (New York: Forensic Press, 1994). Reprinted with permission.

Alternative light source (ALS): Any of several types of high-intensity lamps of varying wavelength and light color, used to visualize latent friction-ridge prints, and certain types of trace and biological evidence.

Automated Fingerprint Identification System (AFIS): One of several computerized systems for the scanning and storage of friction-ridge prints.

Birefringence: The difference between two measures of refraction displayed by certain crystalline substances. Useful in identifying sand, fibers, and dirt.

Chain of custody (COC): A record of every person who has had possession of a piece of evidence from the moment of its collection at a crime scene to its introduction at trial.

COD: Cause of death.

Control samples: Physical evidence collected at a crime scene from known sources, used for comparison with evidence from an unknown source. For example, the victim’s own blood and hair constitutes a control sample.

DCDS: Deceased, confirmed dead at scene.

Density-gradient testing (D-G): A technique for comparing soil samples to determine if they come from the same location. The test involves suspending dirt samples in tubes filled with liquids that have different density values.

DNA typing: Analyzing and charting the genetic structure within the cells of certain types of biological evidence (for example, blood, semen, hair) for the purpose of comparison with control samples from a known suspect. The process involves the isolation and comparison of fragments of DNA – deoxyribonucleic acid – the basic building block of the chromosome. Some types of DNA typing produce a mere likelihood that the evidence came from a suspect; other types are virtually conclusive, with the odds in the hundreds of millions that the evidence was from a particular individual. Also called “genetic typing,” or – erroneously – “DNA fingerprinting” or “genetic fingerprinting.”